P.LXXIX. Behold, O God, what cruel foes

1 Behold, O God, what cruel foes,
Thy peaceful heritage invade;
Thy holy temple stands defil'd,
In dust thy sacred walls are laid.

2 Wise o'er the valleys, drench'd in blood,
Thy people fall'n in death remain;
The fowls of heav'n their flesh devour,
And savage beasts divide the slain.

3 The insulting foes, with impious rage,
Reproach thy children to their face;
"Where is your God of boasted pow'r,
And where the promise of his grace."

4 Deep from the prison's horrid glooms,
Oh hear the mournful captive sigh,
And let thy sov'reign pow'r reprieve,
The trembling souls condemn'd to die.

5 Let those, who dar'd insult thy reign,
Return dismay'd with endless shame,
While heathens, who by thy grace despise
Shall from thy vengeance learn thy name.

6 So shall thy children, freed from death,
Eternal songs of honour raise,
And ev'ry future age shall tell,
Thy sov'reign pow'r and pard'ning grace.

Text Information
First Line: Behold, O God, what cruel foes
Meter: L. M.
Language: English
Publication Date: 1816
Scripture:
Topic: For the Distress of War
Tune Information
(No tune information)



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